Conviction (Criminal Hearts Series)
by bellamysromanov
Summary: Jasmine Black and Scarlett Perotta could not be more different, but their differences bring them to the BAU team. They're goal is help as many innocents as possible. But they find themselves falling for those closest to them along the way. OC/Reid & OC/Hotch. • Season 1 •
1. LDSK

" _We are all broken, that's how the light gets in." —Ernest Hemingway._

* * *

 **Jasmine  
(bellamysgirl)**

 **Des Plaines, Illinois.**

" _He's drawn to high-stakes jobs by a need to prove his superiority to a world he perceives has undervalued him. And these shootings are the ultimate expression of that need. We believe he changes his jurisdictions intentionally and strikes within the first/second shift change, indicating an intimate knowledge of law enforcement."_

Agent Hotchner spoke in front of the Police officers, giving the profile. He was just starting when Jasmine reached the doorway at the back of the somewhat small room. She waited there, listened in, and waited for him to finish—leaning a hip into the door frame with loosely crossed arms and a relaxed expression. "You're saying he's one of us," an officer spoke up.

Hotch answered, "We're saying he once was, or is now, a Police officer."

"Is he driving a white van, too?"

"Enough," Sergeant Weigart said, as chuckles steadily bubbled across the group of officers. "That'll be all for now." The officers slowly began to resume their work, moving about. Jasmine pushed off the wall, but not before Gideon spotted her, and approached her.

"It's good to see you," he said, walking up. "How you been? Good?"

Jasmine shrugged a little, spreading a small, closed-mouthed smile across her lips, "As good as I can be."

"You know I wouldn't have called if it wasn't urgent," Gideon reminded, tentatively.

"I know," she nodded. "Where do you need me?"

He made a motion as he turned, walking semi-quickly away. Jasmine didn't hesitate to follow. He lead the way through the small office, filling her in on the previous killings. Taking into account the profile that was given, Jasmine expected nothing less than something horrific. Gideon lead her to the Sergeant's office. They arrived just as Hotch and JJ were coming out. "My backup has arrived," Gideon said, mostly directed at Hotch.

Hotch's eyes immediately moved to Jasmine. He knew he'd seen her face before but he couldn't quite put a name to it. It was familiar to a point that was almost irritating how elusive it was. "Agent Black, this is Agent Hotchner and Agent Jareau," Gideon introduced. "She's going to be an extra pair of hands on this case."

Jasmine held out her hand to each agent as he named them, and they shook it each in turn. "Just call me Jasmine," she said. "'Agent Black' is a little too formal for me."

Hotch's interest peeked then, hearing her first name. "Gideon, can I have a word with you for a moment?"

"Sure," Gideon replied, neutrally.

The two stepped away, moving out of earshot, but Jasmine knew exactly what they were talking about. It was no secret that Jasmine Black had a gift. A gift of drawing faces. When word got out just how scarily accurate her sketches were, she was the busiest sketch artist in New York City. But the deeper she delved into the technicalities of law enforcement, the more she realized she was in the wrong profession.

JJ smiled at Jasmine politely, "You can call me JJ."

Jasmine smiled back. "It's nice to meet you. Gideon filled me in on some things, but I'm-"

"No. Way. _Jasmine_?"

She turned around at the sound of her name, the sound being voiced by a particularly familiar male voice. "Spencer?" Jasmine's smile widened upon seeing a tall, lanky brunette walking quickly her way. "It's so good to see you." She was a bit taken aback, caught off guard by his sudden gesture when approaching her—wrapping his arms around her in a small hug. Though it was understandable, considering they hadn't seen each other in a couple of years.

Before Jasmine could comprehend it enough to reciprocate it, he'd let go. "It's good to see you, too," he replied, taking a step back. "You're here to help with the case?"

Jasmine nodded, smiling through the bout of whiplash, "Yeah, but I have a feeling it won't be for long."

She turned her head, glancing at the conversation taking place between Hotch and Gideon many feet away. Reid slid his hands into his pants pockets, letting his shoulders relax, as his eyes landed on the two agents. "I see. Well, you're welcome to come look over the board, see if anything sticks out," he said, as she turned back to him. "Given your history with snipers-"

"Sure. Whatever I can do to help," she agreed, with a small nod. It was an obvious intervention to get him to stop talking, something the young Doctor was all too familiar with. He realized in a millisecond why he was being shushed, and instantly shut his mouth. He nodded in return, and showed her to the boards.

The boards filled with pictures of the victims, the sites of the attacks, witnesses, and other needed details of the case. Jasmine had only been looking at it a few short minutes when Gideon, spouting a string of words at her as he walked quickly past her position, walked behind her. "We're all good. I'm responsible for you," he said, in a rush.

Her brow creased, and she twisted to see him as he whizzed by. "What does that mean?"

"If you mess up, it's on me," Gideon responded, halfway out the proverbial door.

Jasmine sighed, turning back to the board, "I'm not so sure that's any better."

* * *

The next day, at the first/second shift change, the team and a handful of officers were at the park to reenact the first shooting. To keep an eye on her, Hotch put Jasmine by his side at the parking lot while the others were sent down onto the grass to take the place of the victims with video cameras. Though Hotch didn't actually say that was his reasoning, Jasmine had no trouble in figuring it out. It felt like she was some kind of bothersome insect. She was something he didn't want to deal with.

Given all she'd been through, she was a flight risk. She was a liability. That's all Hotch saw her as—it was obvious. But she took a deep breath and stood there like a good agent, watching the team move about through dark lenses, too determined to prove him wrong to flinch. After Elle adjusted her position, Gideon determined Middleton, one of the victims, could not have seen the shooter.

Reid's voice came over the walkie in Hotch's hands, and Jasmine instinctively tilted her head toward it an inch to listen. " _I do have a clear view of the vehicle from here_ ," he said. " _Tim Reilly would have seen it if he'd looked down from the kite_."

" _Good. Have the UnSub pop the trunk, see if Reid can see it_ ," Gideon said.

The officer in the trunk of the car popped open the door, setting up his sniper rifle on the bumper. " _No, sorry, I can't_ ," Reid responded.

"Okay, everybody, move to position two," Hotch instructed, speaking into the walkie.

The team members out on the grass moved to change positions. Jasmine reached up to tighten her ponytail, letting a breathy sigh escape. She couldn't tell if her presence was even helping this investigation. It was a bit of a waste of time, it seemed. Just then, like an angel from Heaven, Morgan's voice came over the radio. " _Hey, Jas, can you come down here a sec?_ " he asked. Jasmine's eyes moved to Hotch's face.

It was a silent request for permission. He didn't move for a second, and Jasmine was sure he didn't even see her standing there. But then he moved. It was a small flicker of movement, a reluctant jut of his chin. Jasmine tried not to show just how relieved she was to get moving as she broke into a light jog across the grass. In a short moment, she reached Morgan's position. "You know, I don't think I gave you permission to call me 'Jas' when we met yesterday," she said, slowing to a stop a foot or two in front of him with a lofty smile.

Morgan smiled—that charming, alluring smile of his. "Yeah? Well, too late now. I already said it," Jasmine only gave a quick toss of her eyes before he continued. "Get over here and hold this a sec, will you? I need to make a call."

"Yeah, sure."

Jasmine took Morgan's place, holding the camera to act as the point of view of the victim. He stepped away as she mumbled under her breath, "It beats standing up there doing nothing." Though, no one heard it. But she didn't rather care at this point. "Hey, I didn't get the chance to ask," Reid's voice from the right caused her to glance that way momentarily. "How have you been?"

She chuckled a little at the question, but focused on her camera, adjusting her angle a bit. "As anyone that's lost someone."

"That's over a third of the world's population," Reid replied.

"And there it is. I missed that brain of yours," a smile curved the corners of Jasmine's lips. "Think of how sad I was, Reid. So alone. I mean, I had no one to tell me the square mileage of Montenegro."

"Five thousand, three hundred, thirty-two square miles—thirteen thousand, eight hundred, twelve kilometers. It's two hundred and eleven square miles smaller than Connecticut, actually."

Jasmine refocused her camera, biting her lower lip in concentration, "Beautiful." She noticed something in her lens. It was a white puff of smoke from the vehicle at the parking lot that was turning into quit the cloud. She lifted her head to see better, her eyebrows furrowing. "What the-?"

"Reid, Jasmine- get down!" Morgan's voice sounded a second before something hard hit Jasmine's right side. With an _oof!_ , she was tackled to the ground by a flailing of limbs, two video cameras tumbling onto the grass. She fell onto her back, Reid—having been pushed into her—scrambling to remove himself from atop her front. He was anxiously mumbling apologies, clearing his throat, rolling off her as quickly as humanly possible.

Jasmine groaned, pulling off her sunglasses as she looked to find Morgan. He was on the ground on the other side of Reid. She glared daggers at him, and he gave an apologetic expression. "Sorry," he said, before shrugging. "Next time I'll let you get shot."

"Did you have to throw a man at me?" Jasmine whisper-yelled.

"Okay, I'll admit that part was a little overkill," Morgan nodded a little.

With a toss of her eyes, Jasmine dropped her head back down onto the grass. A shout caused her to roll onto her left side in order to see. Up at the parking lot, officers were handcuffing McCarty after dragging him out of the trunk of the vehicle. "Guys, come on, over here," Morgan said, motioning from behind the thick trunk of a tree adjacent to her and Reid, who were still on the grass.

Reid was the first to get up, into an odd crawling position, and he scurried behind the tree with Morgan. Jasmine inhaled as she pushed herself up to her knees. Her body ached from being body-slammed to the ground so her movements were a bit slow, but she managed to get up, and she hurried toward the tree. She made it to a few inches from the tree when a loud gunshot rang out, followed by incoherent shouting.

Instinctively, Morgan reached out and grabbed her, plucking her behind the safety of the tree in one swift motion. She was jolted to a lower crouching position, her back against Morgan's chest. This was the part of the job she did _not_ miss. Gunfire, running for your life—why would anyone miss it?

* * *

The team filed into a side room at the precinct. Elle and Gideon took seats, Morgan and Hotch stood near the back wall, Detective Calvin and JJ were near the center, Reid moved to stand by the window, and Jasmine stayed close to the door. She leaned her butt into the wall, loosely crossing her arms. She'd picked grass out of her hair the entire drive back to the precinct. "How did McCarty end up playing the UnSub?" JJ asked the Detective.

"Weigart punished McCarty for mouthing off during the profile briefing by making him the UnSub and sticking him in the truck of the car all afternoon," Detective Calvin replied.

"Wait. Then how did the UnSub find out about the reenactment?" JJ questioned.

Morgan spoke up, "Come on—cops talk. Angry cops talk loud. At home, at the bars, at the gym—to anyone who'll listen."

"What do we know? Our UnSub went from wounding civilians, to executing a Police officer. So he's escalated. He's not staying on script," Gideon said.

"Sometimes it's what they don't do," Hotch added.

"He didn't pick McCarty at random," Reid quickly said.

"He didn't take the gut shot," Morgan pointed out.

Hotch asked, "Why?"

Jasmine exhaled, pushing off the wall. "He's sending us a message. I've seen it before. We were giving credit to McCarty and not to him—he wanted us to make sure we knew who the real hero was. His ego is too inflated to allow for anything less."

"Okay...but we still don't know why he wounds them," Elle commented. Morgan's cell phone began to ring. He answered it, excusing himself from the discussion. Having put too much out there already, and having been not shot down, Jasmine spoke again to answer Elle. "Because he needs contact with his victims," she blurted, in a bout of realization. "Where do injured people go after an incident?"

Morgan ended the call just then, coming back over to the group. "Garcia nailed down the geographic profile. The crime scenes are centered on two separate locations."

"The hospitals," Hotch said, knowingly. "Alright, let's get moving."

The team filed out of the room and headed for the parking lot. As they pushed through the exit, one by one, Gideon shouted over his shoulder, "Jasmine, with me," as he followed suit of Detective Calvin, getting into the Detective's passenger seat. Jasmine nodded, unwavering as she hurried to get into the passenger side of the back row seating. As she slid in, Reid opened the left side door and got in, shutting the door behind him.

The rest of the team climbed into their SUV and followed closely behind the Detective's car as she pulled out of the lot. They were driving for a solid few minutes before someone finally broke the silence. It was Reid, with a quiet voice, turning his head to see Jasmine to his right. "I'm- uh- really sorry-" he broke the sentence to clear his throat. "-I'm really sorry about what happened at the park back there-"

"It's fine, Spencer. Really. It's Morgan that shoved you into me," Jasmine assured, in a neutral tone.

"I believe it's a case of hero homicide," Gideon said, in response to something the Detective had said that the back seat missed. And just after the Detective finished getting out the words to ask what that was, Reid was leaning forward in his seat, spewing out a thousand words a minute. "The best-known case was hospital nurse Richard Angelo," he piped up. "He would inject toxins into his victims, then wait for them to crash so he could run to the rescue and save them. He killed twenty-five people, and that's just what we know of."

Jasmine's lips pulled up into a small smile. That was the one thing she _did_ miss. "If he attacked 'em to save 'em, why'd he kill twenty-five people?" Detective Calvin questioned, perplexed.

"He wasn't very good at it," Gideon answered.

"Yeah, and hospitals don't keep records of people who _almost_ died," Reid finished. They arrived at the hospital a short while later, after a last minute epiphany from Gideon. They pulled into the parking lot and parked along the front curb. Gideon was of the first to exit the vehicle, rounding and speaking as he passed the driver's side. "Call Weigart and tell him we need a discreet perimeter around this block," he said.

Hotch elected to go and exam the surgeon in question's, Landman's, car. The rest of the team filed inside. They set up in a conference room, the same one they'd been to before, but without Jasmine. To her, this place was new. She felt as if she were a fish out of water, but she sat in the seat to the right of Elle, acting as though she knew what she was doing, and did whatever Elle told her to do. Reid dropped into the chair to her right but she paid no mind. She was too focused.

Morgan had Garcia fax over a history for Landman, and he read it aloud. "Landman was Army, started out in M.P. school."

"Well, there's your law enforcement," Elle pointed out.

"He was smart. Got a degree on Uncle Sam, and ended up a doctor with Special Forces," Morgan said. "And bounced around from hospital to hospital since his discharge in...two thousand one." Gideon stood during the conversation, moving to stand by the window.

"Has Dr. Landman been under any unusual strain? Has he had a reprimand? Uh...has he had any kind of major blow to his ego?" Gideon asked, looking toward the hospital representative in the chair next to his position by the window.

"Last month he was passed over for Chief of Surgery," the woman confessed.

"Let's get a warrant for his house. Let's see if we find the weapon," Gideon instructed. Morgan agreed, standing and exiting the room. The representative asked what she could do, and Gideon turned toward her again. "You can tell me where he is right now." She gave his directions to an operating room not far from the conference room.

The team was up and moving, filing out of the room and down the hall. Jasmine trailed behind, even a step behind JJ at the back, just to make sure she kept an eye on everything. She still was not sure her presence was truly helping, but she stuck with it. As they reached the operating room, Gideon told everyone to stay put, and he went into the small room alone. Elle, Reid, JJ, and Jasmine waited just outside the window to the left of the door.

Elle was focused on the conversation inside the operating room, JJ intently watching right beside her. Jasmine, on the other hand, was hit with a thought. She leaned to the right, just enough for part of the shoulder of her jacket to brush Reid's, and she spoke with a quiet voice. "I know how you can make it up to me," she said, hushed.

Reid's eyebrows creased, eyes shifting left toward the portion of her face visible to him. "I thought you said it wasn't my fault?"

"We can get coffee, after the case is over," she continued, ignoring his comment. "You can catch me up on everything I missed."

"Does that mean you're returning to the FBI?" he inquired, a hint of youthful hope to his voice.

Suddenly Elle waved a hand, making a somewhat loud shushing sound, silencing both agents and startling an unsuspecting JJ standing right beside her. Just then, Hotch returned from the parking lot. "Did you get anything from his car?" Elle asked him, as he joined the group's side.

"It's a red, two-seat Maserati," Hotch answered. "If he's the shooter, he has another vehicle."

"I was in my office," Dr. Landman said, inside the operating room.

"Were you alone?" Gideon inquired.

"I was in my office with Dr. Hannah Pate," Landman replied. Then, rather loudly, he added, "I'm not the only one who thinks I'm a _god_! She's in the ER right now. Go on. Ask her."

"Reid, let's take a walk to the ER," Hotch said, sighing a bit as he turned to walk away. Reid followed closely behind, and Jasmine exhaled, sliding her hands in her pockets. It didn't take long for Gideon to come out of the operating room. He exhaled heavily, leaning into the wall beside the door. "He has the worst Narcissistic Personality Disorder I've ever seen," he said. "But he's not our guy."

"So what does that leave us with?" JJ asked, not to anyone in particular.

"Other hospital staff maybe?" Gideon supposed. "Nurses-"

Suddenly, and very loudly, alarms began to blare in the hall, but it was coming from somewhere else. _The ER_. Gideon, Jasmine, Elle, and JJ all sprinted through the hall. They reached the ER in a matter of minutes. The waiting room was open but the rest was closed off. S.W.A.T. members arrived shortly after a call from Gideon. There was only one explanation, only one conclusion. This was a hostage situation. With the knowledge that both Hotch and Reid were in the ER with the shooter, Jasmine's chest felt heavy.

She was not prepared for this part. None of them were expecting it. Morgan didn't take long to get back to the hospital and they filled him in on what he missed while S.W.A.T. was suiting up. Then he told them what new information he'd learned. "He joined the Army at eighteen, went to Ranger school, did six years before being dishonorably discharged in ninety-five for conduct unbecoming," he explained. "Obviously, he lied about it and joined the Arlington PD."

"You were right. He was a cop," JJ spoke up.

Jasmine was quiet, sitting on a chair next to the group that was standing. She was sat back with her arms folded loosely. It was the only way she could not appear nervous. Though, in front of a group of highly skilled profilers, that was next to impossible. "For nine months. When they found out about the discharge, they kicked him out," Elle added. "Soon thereafter, Dowd got his nursing license. He's been bouncing from hospital to hospital ever since."

Gideon went to Weigart then, across the room, leaving the group suddenly and without word. The rest of the team stayed put, waiting. Morgan's eyes drifted down then, stopped on Jasmine, and narrowed at her posture. "You alright down there?" he asked her, leaning around JJ a little.

Jasmine nodded, sitting up, "Yeah. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Morgan disagreed.

"Guys, can you give us a minute?" Elle asked, looking to JJ and Morgan. They nodded and made their way to the other side of the room. Elle took a deep breath and sat down in the chair to the left of Jasmine. Jasmine leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. Elle sat back a little. "What's going on?" she asked, gently. "Talk to me."

"I don't know Hotchner very well, but I've known Reid for a while—over two years," Jasmine explained, a bit hesitantly. She huffed a sigh, sitting up, scrubbing her face with her hands. "The last time someone I cared about was being held at gunpoint, I gambled, and I lost. I got there just in time to see my fiance slaughtered, laying in a pool of his own blood on my kitchen floor."

Elle sat up a little straighter at those words. She'd read Jasmine's file, but that part wasn't in it. At least, not in the version she read. "Jasmine...I can't imagine what that was like for you. But Reid's going to come out of this alive. I mean, come on, _you_ know how smart he is," Elle said, using her best positive voice. "They're both going to be just fine."

"They've got three minutes," Gideon announced, as we walk back over to the chairs.

Those words only made the anxiety in Jasmine's chest worse. It made her almost start hyperventilating. She wanted to scream. She wanted to let it out. But she kept it all in, every last ounce of it, standing beside the team as Weigart called time on the three minute delay. The S.W.A.T. team moved into position. Jasmine reached out her hand, and Elle grabbed hold, giving her a reassuring squeeze. A kind of anchor to hold onto.

Something to ground her during this incredibly anxious, adrenaline, worry-fueled moment. They counted down from five. But they only reached three before a loud gunshot rang out. A voice from inside yelled out, "Federal agent! Federal agent!" Hotch opened the door a second later. "We're all clear." The team was moving in an instant. Jasmine's shock almost kept her still, but Elle's hold on her pried her feet from the floor.

Then she was walking, walking faster, Jogging, breaking away from Elle. Before she knew it, she was running down the short hallway to the ER door. Reid was just being peeled off the floor with Hotch's help. Even in the yellow-orange light, she could see the purple to the skin of his face, near his left eye. "Spencer," she called out, gaining the attention of both agents. She hurried forward toward them.

"I'm alright, really, I'm ju-" Reid tried, but was cut off. She threw her arms around his neck, holding on tightly, eliciting an audible wince from the slight pinch in his abdomen. Jasmine quickly pulled back upon hearing him, realizing what she'd done. "Oh! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she quickly apologized, her hands gripping his arms.

"It's okay," Reid shook his head, exhaling through it. "Jasmine- I'm fine."

Her eyes fixed on the bruise to his face with a sharp inhalation of breath. It looked worse close up. She put her hand on his cheek, turning his head ever so slightly to further examine it. "Spencer! Your face," she was agape, in shock. "What happened to your face?"

"Uh- Dowd hit me with his- his gun," Reid cleared his throat, casually pulling back enough to escape the hand on his face.

Jasmine knew how silly she must have seemed. But, to be completely honest, she didn't care. She stepped back enough to let go of him completely, though rather reluctant. "You should get that checked out," she nodded as she spoke, swallowing hard. Mostly to keep herself from falling apart. But he could see it. Reid knew she was not alright. She was miles away from it.

How could she be, after what had happened? He was in New York with Gideon when it happened, working on the case with her. When Jasmine's fiance, Evan, was found dead in Jasmine's apartment a few blocks from the precinct. It was a hard day for everyone involved, but especially for her. Especially when they never caught the killer.

"Jas- Jasmine," he tried, stuttering a little in his anxious—and awkward sounding—attempt at sympathy. Before he could finish his sentence—or even get another word out—she shook her head, excused herself, and his shoulders slumped. She managed to slip passed the S.W.A.T. members and freed hostages without alerting the team to her exit. Jasmine locked the door behind her in the unisex bathroom just down the hall from the ER.

Her palms pressed into the porcelain sink that was separated from the wall, rocking on her heels as she stared herself down in the mirror. Something she'd blocked from her mind, something she'd learned to live without—the blood, the adrenaline, the thrill of the chase—it was now coming in with a taste for revenge. She felt like an addict that got clean, changed their life around, then suddenly shot up two years later.

Jasmine let her eyes fall closed as she breathed in, then exhaled, and repeated. _He's not Evan_. She spoke those words in her mind like a mantra. Over and over, until they were coming from her lips in a whisper. It took her a short moment, but she calmed down enough to stand up, open her eyes. This was something she would have to fight to get over. She could tell that right then, looking at herself in the mirror. She thought that she'd moved on, gotten past what happened.

But that could not be farther from the truth. The question she needed to answer was, was this worth it? Was it worth coming back to the job should she be offered a chance to stay? She couldn't quite tell, though she was leaning toward no. Finally, she calmed herself down enough to exit the bathroom. After asking a S.W.A.T. member in the lobby, she found that the team was outside. It was dark overhead, the stars shining, as she stepped out through the hospital doors.

Her eyes scanned the parking lot. A couple of ambulances were parked out by the front and, at the back of one, Reid sat on the bumper, talking to Hotch. Jasmine took a deep breath and started walking in that direction. Hotch glanced up then, noticing her approach. Knowingly, he excused himself, leaving behind a confused Dr. Reid. But then Jasmine walked into his immediate line of sight, and he understood.

Jasmine's expression was a mixture of things. Apologetic, sympathetic, embarrassment—all swirled together on her features. She exhaled. "You look worse in brighter light," she broke the silence, mildly sarcastic in tone.

"Thank you, I needed to hear that," Reid smiled a little.

"Well, if you can't trust your friends to tell you the truth, who can you?" Jasmine inhaled, the corners of her lips edging upward a bit. "I'm sorry about wigging out on you in there. This...this is all really new and I needed a second to catch my breath."

Reid quickly shook his head, "It's okay, you don't need to apologize. I completely understand."

"I don't," Jasmine admitted, semi-quietly.

She turned her head right, looking elsewhere a moment. Reid took that moment to look at her. Really look at her. She hadn't changed much since he last saw her. Her hair was still pin straight, blowing in her face from the ponytail at the back of her head and the shorter hairs loose by her temples. No matter how many years passed, she was still breathtaking. When her eyes suddenly shifted back toward him, he cleared his throat, eyes becoming downcast in an instant.

Jasmine pretended not to notice but, despite her efforts, she still found herself with a small smiling smirk on her lips. Just then, her eyebrows lowered, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the crinkled and ruffled look to his shirt collar. She took an absentminded step forward and her fingers instinctively tugged and smoothed out the fabric against his neck. At her proximity, Reid's head shot up, his heart leaping into his throat.

"Spencer Reid with an unkempt collar just doesn't look right," Jasmine explained, a hint of apologetic to her tone. His eyes were looking down at her hands for a second, but then they found a place to rest on her face. Once she finished, she took a half-step back. "There. That looks much better."

Reid pushed off the bumper of the ambulance then, standing to his full height, towering over her a bit. "Hey- um, do you still want to...do you still want to get a coffee?" He was practically tripping over himself to get the words out before he changed his own mind. Jasmine was a little surprised by his sudden deceleration of interest, but she smiled—a warm, soft smile that was genuine—and she nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. "That'd be nice."

It wasn't a coffee shop, but the jet ride home served as the perfect place for a cup of coffee. Jasmine was hitching a ride with them back to headquarters anyway. At least, this way, she was killing two birds with one stone. Reid told her about the cases they'd been over so far since he and Gideon rejoined the team in Quantico while she sipped a steaming mug gingerly, sitting in the seat across from him, a short table in between.

The rest of the team did things to keep themselves busy for a little while, but most fell asleep after they ran out of tasks. Gideon, however, was still awake. He walked down the aisle, stopping only to drop into the chair next to Jasmine. "How are you doing, Reid?" he asked, exhaling as he relaxed his weight against the cushion.

"I'm okay. I was actually just telling Jasmine about what you said, that you don't need a gun to kill someone?" Reid replied, before nodding a little. "You were right."

"No, you don't," Gideon agreed.

"But it helps," Reid huffed a small, light chuckle.

Gideon nodded slowly, "Yes. It does."

Reid sat forward in his chair a little, clearing his throat as he readjusted his position. "I- I know I should feel bad about...what happened. I mean...I killed a man. You know, I- I should feel something," he said. Then he shook his head, "But I don't."

"Not knowing what you feel...that's not the same as not feeling anything. This is gonna hit you...and when it does...there's only three facts you need to know-"

Jasmine spoke up, her eyes fixed on the table in front of her, "You did what you had to do and a lot of good people are alive because of what you did."

Gideon, a bit surprised, turned to look at her as his eyebrows rose on his forehead. Jasmine glanced up at him with a slightly mopey, closed-mouthed smile. And he remembered it then, when he'd spoken those words before—or words similar. The day after Evan was murdered. He exhaled, turning foreword again in his seat. There was no need for explanation, no need for words of any kind.

Reid, eyebrows pinched in curiosity, piped up, "What's the third?"

"I'm proud of you," Gideon answered.

The young Doctor couldn't fight the boyish smile that came to his face as he sat back in his chair. Gideon turned his head, looking to Jasmine yet again. She was in mid-sip, but broke it off early to return his glance, one eyebrow risen questioningly. "I, uh...I have an offer for you," he said, not totally sure in how to phrase his question. "I think you could be an asset to this team, what we're doing. I pulled a lot of strings to get you official for this one but, if you agree, I can get you a spot. It'll be a glorified internship for a while—a few weeks, max—but after that...you'll be apart of the team."

Jasmine didn't know how to respond to that. Reid perked up in his seat, though, too interested in the words she would utter next not to. But she didn't speak. Instead, her teeth clamped on her lower lip as she turned to see the window. "I'll work on cases with you guys?" she asked, turning back to Gideon. He nodded through his answer, but she wasn't quite listening. Her eyes shifted to meet Reid's across the table. They were a silent question— _yes or no?_

Reid bobbed his head, a smile coming to his lips that tugged up one side of Jasmine's, as he urged her to accept. She turned her head to look at Gideon once more, inhaling, "I'm in."


	2. Natural Born Killer (Part 1)

_"There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter." -Ernest Hemingway._

* * *

Scarlett Perotta

(mrsnatasharomanov/nostarielstuff)

 **III**

"Alright princess, Freddy is here to pick you up," a man in a suit reports stoically.

The room he stepped into is small and focused onto one table int eh center where a petite woman is writing furiously. On one side an older woman is observing the girl at an old rickety desk.

The petite blonde girl looks up with a sparkling smile and the serious man cracks a grin. The girl is always smiling, always cheerful, and always oblivious.

He wears sunglasses despite being in a dark room, Russo's guards always do.

"Scarlett don't forget to study your Spanish tonight," the girls tutor chimes as the blonde excitedly jumps up. She looks forward to Freddie driving her home, he always lets her change the radio station. "Spanish Sunday."

"And tomorrow is Mandarin Monday. Mrs. Kelly I know what I have to do," the girl replies. "I'm not a child."

She isn't a child, Scarlett Perotta may have the naivety of a child, but she is twenty four years old.

"I know my dear Scarlett, but you still have to keep up with your language days and your studies," Mrs. Kelly counters and Scarlett nods. "I won't have Mr. Russo thinking I'm a bad teacher."

"We both think you're fantastic don't worry," Scarlett assures and the woman sighs in relief. The tutor always worries about failing Michael Russo, she'd hate to end up like Scarlett's last teacher.

Scarlett is oblivious to relief and waves before bouncing out the door. Even in stilettos Scarlett Perotta can still bounce and run out of a room.

The guard gives the girl a goodbye wave, but stays to watch the tutor.

 **III**

Freddy grins as the girl comes down the steps. Her hair, held in a ponytail, flounces with each step of her black heeled feet. Even in the darkness her blue eyes glow and her red painted smile shines.

The beauty of Scarlett Perotta cannot be shrouded in shadows or drowned in despair.

But with her beauty comes innocence and a distorted world view.

"Freddy!" she calls as she approaches. Upon coming up to the car she reaches for the passenger side door only to find another man in her usual seat. She frowns and raises an eyebrow. She's seen this man around with Freddy, but why is he here? "And this is?"

"Scar, meet Jimmy," Freddy introduces and Scarlett smiles politely.

"Nice to meet you," she says and the man offers his hand through the rolled down window. Scarlett takes it and shakes briefly before sliding herself into the backseat.

"Freddy can we stop for ice cream? Mrs. Kelly wouldn't let me eat anything after lunch."

Her lessons last all day for five days a week. Scarlett Perotta has always been homeschooled, taught everything from math to karate.

"Sure thing princess, lets stop for ice cream."

Scarlett leans back into her seat, careful to buckle her seat belt, and hums to herself.

Scarlett's gaze stays on the passing scenery, the ring on her finger glints in the light of passing street lamps.

When she isn't smiling her appearance shows a more accurate visual of her life.

The soft skin lacking any stress marks, the wandering curiosity in her eyes, and the lack of true joy in her expression.

Scarlett Perotta has lived a sheltered life away from the world, the truth, and she doesn't know it.

 **III**

With an ice cream cone in hand Scarlett appears childish, she has never needed to be very serious.

Her family has raised her like a princess, in a gilded cage.

"Here we are Mrs. Perotta," Freddy informs as he comes to a stop in front of a modest two bedroom home. Freddy, anxious to be polite, rushes right out of the car and pulls open the door for Scarlett.

"Such chivalry," Scarlett coos playfully and steps out. With one hand she pulls Freddy Condor into a hug and kisses his cheek. "You're so good to me Freddie."

"Just doing my job princess," he teases and the blonde giggles.

Scarlett releases Freddy and begins up the steps into her house.

"You have a goodnight with your old man," Freddy calls in a teasing manner.

Scarlett's face betrays no emotion, when mention of a 'goodnight' with Vincent she always feels wrong.

"Night Freddy," she replies, before unlocking her door and entering her home alone.

Vincent isn't waiting for her at the door and Scarlett sighs in relief.

It's not that Scarlett doesn't want to see her husband it's just that Vincent always asks a lot of questions and Scarlett is tired right now.

Scarlett Perotta loves her husband, she does so very much.

 **III**

Unbeknownst to his wife, Vincent Perotta sits in his vehicle outside their home.

Scarlett was late coming home, so he went to get his car and drive to get her.

When the tutor's escort informed him Freddy had taken her, Perotta returned home to find her, Freddie, and another man.

He witnessed the hug, the kiss on the cheek, and it made him furious.

 **III**

The phone only rings twice before Vincent picks up.

Scarlett has been waiting for his return, for any instructions from him, for half an hour.

"My Scarlett why are you calling?" he asks harshly.

"I wanted to know if you were going to be back for dinner? Do you want me to make something?" Scarlett asks shakily. She is not afraid of her husband, she is only cautious of his anger.

"I'll pick up something on my way home. You should eat and be in bed asleep when I get home." It's not a suggestion, it's an order. "I love you." He then hangs up and Scarlett exhales sharply.

She crosses her arms and closes her eyes.

Scarlett has an amazing family, a wonderful husband, and a perfect life. She is happy, she is always happy.

The ring on her finger is not a mark of possession and neither is the Russo crest on her neck.

Scarlett Perotta stands and walks up to her shared bedroom. She no longer desires to eat, only sleep.

Wordlessly she dresses in a red nightgown and crawls into her bed.

Closing her eyes she hopes for sleep, but her thoughts wander. What could Vincent possibly be doing?

 **III**

A restless two hours pass before Scarlett hears thumping and groaning downstairs.

"Can't have a snitch or a witness." It's her husbands voice, snarling and threatening. The familiarity sends shivers down her spine and fear for the receiver of that tone.

"I'm not a snitc-AGH!" Scarlett jolts and clutches her pillow tighter.

Screwing her eyes shut she pretends to be asleep, wishes for sleep, Vincent can't know what she's heard. It won't be the first times she's had to turn a blind eye for him.

She hears the basement door unlocking and a body being dragged down the steps. Tears come to her eyes but she blinks them back and makes no sound.

 **III**

When Vincent Perotta comes to bed an hour later, Scarlett is convincingly asleep.

No witnesses, there can be no witnesses.

"Scarlett?" Mr. Perotta shakes his wife's shoulder and Scarlett yawns. In her years married to Vincent she has become quite the actress. Blinking Scarlett rolls over and lazily smiles at her husband.

"Hi Vinnie," she murmurs and the man grins at her. He smells of bleach, he always does after nights like this.

Vincent Perotta's wife may be wary of him and may not completely love him, but he loves her and only her. She is his most singular obsession and possession. Vincent Perotta would never let any harm to come to Scarlett; Vincent would kill for her.

"Did you hear me come in?"

"No Vi, I've been asleep," she lies easily. "Up in this bed all alone with no one to keep me warm."

Vincent grins and pulls the blonde in his arms with ease, he's always been inhumanly strong. His hands grip the red silk on her body and she stares him in the eyes.

Scarlett Perotta knows how to play to good wife, she's been doing it for longer than she'd care to admit.

 **III**

XxX

Jasmine

(bellamysgirl)

XxX

Morgan lead the team through a house—the scene of a horrific crime—in Baltimore. "I was teaching an in-service at the Baltimore field office when this came in," he explained. "Baltimore PD's seen some grisly stuff, but never anything like this. We've got two bodies ID'd as William and Helen Dimarco. Retired, lived here for thirty-seven years, no kids. Neighbor reports a white male, twenty to forty years old fleeing the scene and, I quote, 'hopped up on those dang drugs'."

"Eyewitness accounts are notoriously unreliable," Gideon commented, as the team turned to head up a staircase.

Jasmine hummed a moment, "I don't know. I've seen my fair share of incorrect sightings but, more often than not, they saw the guy—they just need a little prompting to figure out what they saw."

"That's right, you were a sketch artist," Elle said, a few steps ahead on the stairs from Jasmine. "Maybe you should sketch this guy?"

"Wouldn't hurt. So far, though, it seems like your standard double-homicide. Why are we here, exactly?" Jasmine asked, leaning into the banister at her right to see Morgan at the top, around Elle. Her question was answered the second she stepped foot into the master bathroom. Blood covered every inch of the vanity in the far left corner, more blood was splattered in the standing shower. There was even blood stained in the bathtub.

"Massive overkill," Morgan answered. Jasmine felt a bit nauseous, sidestepping to the right to steer clear of the blood spray on the walls by the vanity. As Elle hypothesized where specifically in Helen Dimarco's body the blood came from, she was sure she looked green. Jasmine hadn't seen a crime scene like this is almost three years.

She started walking toward the shower and tub, where Reid was mentally analyzing the blood stain in the bath. "Helen Dimarco was found here, tied to the chair in front of the vanity. No defensive wounds. Ligature marks around the wrists, one clear laceration from ear to ear. The husband, William, was found in the shower, but he wasn't quite as lucky. Ligature marks on the wrists and ankles, and one long laceration up the abdomen through both layers of muscle," Morgan explained.

"Evisceration. That's typical of disorganized behavior," Reid spoke up. He stood upright and wandered back through the bathroom toward the vanity. Jasmine peered inside the tub, and immediately wished she hadn't. She stepped back with a wrinkled nose and turned to face the others, willing her mind to ALT-delete her current memory folder. "Despite all the blood, this crime scene shows method, order, control," Elle said, before giving a mild shrug. "I'd say it's pretty organized."

"There was also evidence of torture with the husband," Morgan continued. "Burns, contusions, lacerations—you name it, this guy tried it."

Reid spoke next, "If torture is this UnSub's signature, the methodology is usually unique. A person who burns someone usually doesn't use a knife."

"So we have more than one killer?" Jasmine suggested, thinking aloud.

"Or one killer with more than one personality," Hotch counter suggested.

"We also have three victims," Gideon finally spoke, from where he'd stood by the door the entire introduction. "Blood on the vanity, wife's body was found there, husband was in the shower-" he began walking toward the tub and shower. "-from the look of the ring in this tub, whoever was in it lost their entire blood volume."

Jasmine's eyes immediately shifted up and to the right an inch, just before Reid said, "Approximately ten point six pints." She nodded once, mostly to herself, and turned half way to see the tub, where Gideon was standing. "Which means the victim was dismembered," Elle said.

"It looks like our guy took all the parts with him," Morgan said, ruefully.

XxX

Scarlett

 **III**

The next morning Freddy doesn't show up to take Scarlett to her lessons.

The tutor's escort, George Taylor, shows up to her door instead.

"Where's Freddy?" Scarlett inquires and the guard frowns.

"Come on Mrs. Russo the boss wants to see you," Taylor replies and takes her arm. Scarlett's worry spikes at the use of her maiden name and news of not attending her lessons.

"Did something happen? Where's Freddy?" she demands with increasing worry. The guard ignores her and firmly guides her into the back of his town car.

Scarlett reluctantly sits and allows the guard to buckle her seatbelt for her.

"Would you just talk to me please?" Scarlett snaps insistently. "Did Mikey ask you not to say?"

"Boss wants to tell you himself, were meeting him at the yard," the guard responds and Scarlett huffs. It's clear that is all she is going to get.

 **III**

Jasmine

XxX

Jasmine cracked open her can of diet Coke, taking a sip as her eyes skimmed over the case file on the table in front of her. To her right, Reid narrowed his eyes at her actions, before sitting back in his seat. "Aspartame converts into methanol and eventually formaldehyde, which travels to the brain and causes neurological oxidation," he said, causing only Jasmine's knowing eyes to shift to the right to see him. Her eyebrows popped on her forehead, and he clarified, "Diet soda causes severe headaches and depression."

"Last time you told me what was inside a processed food product, I threw up on your shoes," Jasmine reminded, with a light-hearted but warning tone.

Elle chuckled, pinning a picture up on the board a few feet from the table, "What was the processed food product?"

"Hot dogs," Gideon recalled, moving to grab another photo from the table. "I believe the hang-up was the casing made out of sheep intestines. It might have been the mechanically separated poultry-"

"Okay," Jasmine interrupted, holding up her hands in surrender. "I think we all can agree there are some things better left unknown by the consumer."

Reid's brow furrowed, turning to the left in his seat, "But you're ignoring the health risks."

"Because one soda will kill me? It's not like I'm drinking acid," Jasmine was genuinely perplexed.

"Phosphoric acid—used an an additive in soda—eats away rust, and causes tooth erosion," Reid countered.

Jasmine's head tilted with a patronizing smirk. "Are you saying this because you care for my well-being, or because you enjoy showing off?"

"Because I care for your well-being," he answered, neutrally, as though it were obvious. Jasmine's features relaxed as she sat back in her chair. Her mouth opened, and Morgan walked in the room with a notepad, spewing information about the third victim found late last night. So she sat back in her chair completely, keeping her mouth shut, but it lingered in the back of her mind.

Morgan said, "Third victim was positively ID'd as a low level mob guy. Frederick 'Freddy' Condore—he was the nephew of the older couple. Body parts were found in seven different trash cans two blocks from the crime scene."

"Were they able to completely reassemble the body?" Reid inquired.

"Killer didn't keep any trophies," Morgan nodded.

"Is there any evidence that he got off?" Elle questioned.

Morgan shook his head, "Nope."

"Garcia has a number of unsolved murders in D.C., Virginia, and Maryland over the past fifteen years," Reid said. "Many of them have ties to organized crime, all different MO's."

"And the connection is torture," Jasmine assumed aloud, bobbing her head a bit. "Marks on the bones are consistent with the same cutting tool."

Gideon said, "Torture victims, most tied to organized crime...no signs of sexual sadism."

"We're looking for a hit-man," Elle hypothesized.

"No, a hit-man doesn't need to torture to get the job done," Morgan disagreed.

Just then, JJ came through the door into the conference room. She walked straight to the table and placed a piece of white paper on its surface near Gideon. "Two things—Baltimore PD just faxed over Jasmine's sketch of the man fleeing the scene, and there are some agents out there who think that you're poaching on their turf," she announced.

"I'll handle it," Gideon exhaled, pushing up from his chair.

He stood and exited the room through the door JJ entered from. Jasmine blew out a long, puff of an exhale. Reid reached across the table, his curiosity peeked, and nabbed the sketch from Gideon's seat. He pulled it back to his side of the table to look at it more closely. "Well? How'd our girl do?" Morgan asked, stepping over toward Reid's chair.

"If you think it's anything less than symmetrically perfect, you don't know Jasmine," Reid replied, squinting his eyes at the sketch to further see its detail.

"'Our girl'?" Jasmine lifted a brow at Morgan. "I'm no one's girl, thank you very much."

It was Elle's turn to raise an eyebrow, "You like being single?"

"More like, I've made peace with being destined to live alone," Jasmine clarified, nodding slowly. Just then, Gideon came back into the room. He walked straight to the white board behind the table, where various traits were written, and popped the cap off the marker. He wrote two more traits, while Morgan asked, "So? Are we gonna drop it?"

"Our UnSub is male, intelligent, organized, and methodical. He has the confidence of a man who's been killing for a long time," Gideon turned around to face the team after putting down the marker. "Only victim removed from the scene is Freddy Condore, indicating some tie to him. Elle, you and Reid stay on Condore's background with Garcia. Dig deep, see what turns up."

"Condore worked as a supervisor at a scrap metal yard in Baltimore. It's owned by a guy named Michael Russo, boss of a small mob crew," Morgan said. "I'm gonna grab Hotch and go check him out." He turned to leave, but Gideon stopped him.

"Take Jasmine with you," Gideon said. Jasmine was a bit surprised, seeing as she hadn't been allowed to be anywhere Gideon wasn't when on a case for the last few cases. She looked up at Gideon and he nodded, motioning for her to go. So she did. She stood, stuffed her arms through her jacket, and hurried to join Morgan on his stride through the exit

XxX

Scarlett

 **III**

The ride to the yard was silent and tense. Taylor didn't say anything, didn't even put on the radio.

Once at the yard Scarlett rushes out the car ahead of her escort. He chases to catch her, but Scarlett is a storm that cannot be stopped.

Her steps are quick as to avoid the heels sinking into the gravel and her golden hair whips behind her.

"Mikey! Mikey!" she yells as she dashes through the yard. The workers she passes look over in concern, but say nor do anything.

Scarlett Perotta is the bosses daughter, it isn't their business to interfere.

Across the yard, Russo and his personal guard, Alex Romero, are standing before two unfamiliar men and one woman.

One man is taller with short black hair, brown eyes that stand out, and wears a suit. He likes the most professional of the trio and the most intriguing to Scarlett. The other man is only slightly shorter with dark skin, close shaven head, and defined muscles. The woman is shorter than them both with pin straight dark hair, plump lips, and grim eyes.

Scarlett's run turns into a hesitant walk as she approaches her father and the newcomers.

"Michael Russo?" the muscular man asks. Russo nods and his gaze only barely glances at Scarlett.

She comes closer against her better judgement and regards the strangers cautiously.

"Agents Hotchner, Black, and Morgan, FBI," Hotchner, the taller one, informs. His eyes linger curiously on Scarlett Perotta.

Scarlett hasn't realized but she's come face to face with the man who will save her life, but is also destined to destroy it.

"What do you want?" Russo demands and Scarlett crosses her arms.

"Freddy Condore." Hotchner, the apparent leader, says it flippantly and Scarlett seizes up.

"What did you say?" she hisses and steps forward only for her arm to be grabbed by Taylor.

"He didn't show up for work today. He didn't call, nothin'," Russo answers flippantly. The callousness stings Scarlett; Freddy is her friend.

"Probably because he and his aunt and uncle were murdered last night."

Scarlett's eyes widen, her heart skips a beat, and her blood runs cold. Practically every symptom of shock and despair flashes through her in that moment and all she can think to shout is: "WHAT?!"

The woman, Agent Black, looks back at Scarlett with a raised eyebrow. Maybe they should have used the tactic of notification for grieving family and friends rather than this icy approach.

"Really? That's too bad," Russo grumbles. He looks down and blinks hard while twisting his expression, feigning hurt.

Scarlett sees through his act and then sees red.

"How could you be so callous?!" Scarlett hisses and shoves past her guard to get to Russo. Michael nods to Romero who grabs Scarlett right off the ground before she can claw at Russo.

"Let me go you rat!" Scarlett shouts and punches on the guards arms around her waist. She has no real intention of harming him, if she did he'd be knocked out already. The guard squeezes her and holds her back from Russo.

The FBI agents appear to be unconcerned with the woman's hysterics, except for Agent Black.

"Hey! Not so rough, I'd hate to have to arrest you for aggravated assault," Agent Black quips and the guards hold lessens.

"Mikey how can you not care?! Freddy is-was my friend! He drives-drove me everywhere! Heck he drove me home last night! I just saw him last night! Oh my God, he's dead. Freddy's dead, but I just saw him, but he's dead." Scarlett is in a saddened rage now, crying but still clawing at Michael Russo. The guard is doing a brilliant job of holding her back and Russo a brilliant job of not caring.

"Yeah? I can tell you're all busted up about it," Agent Morgan spits out sarcastically.

"Look, I don't speak smart-ass so you got something to say to me-"

"It was a professional hit. Either you're in charge of your business or you're not," Hotchner declares bluntly and Russo's eye twitches towards Scarlett. Involuntarily Hotchner side eyes Scarlett Perotta and his eyes linger.

Her face is red, tears splotch her cheeks, and her eyes are stormy, but yet she is still beautiful.

"What kind of business do you think I'm in?" Russo counters defiantly. "Look around. I'm in scrap metal. All about recycling. That's where the money is, my friend."

"Saving the earth?" Agent Black scoffs. She doesn't believe Russo for a second.

"You've got a big problem," Agent Morgan states and steps forward into Russo's space, getting into his face. "You know, the mob isn't what it used to be."

"Mob?! Mikey what's going on?" Scarlett demands and struggles in the grip of Romero. Her attention turns to the leader and his expression softens. "We are not a mob."

"Quiet Scarlett! Romero control her," Russo barks, fueling the rage of Scarlett Perotta. She lets out a angry screech and lurches forward but Romero yanks her back. He grabs her frantic arms and drags her backwards away from the scene while shushing in her ear and holding a hand over her mouth.

"Come on Mrs. Russo let's get you inside," he utters, as he yanks her away.

Agent Morgan does not remove his gaze from Russo, he is unbothered by the girls hysterics.

"Ain't easy always fighting for respect, is it? You always gotta fight for what's yours. One of your boys steps out of line..." Morgan tsk's repetitively in sardonic disapproval and shakes his head. "You hit him hard, you make it count, right?"

"Is that what happened to Freddy?" Hotchner cuts in while giving just the barest nod of approval for Agent Black to interfere with Scarlett and the guard. He can't ignore the women's distress any longer.

Agent Black smirks and stalks forward.

"Let her go, Romero was it?" she cuts in making the struggle between the pair halt. Scarlett stares intently at Agent Black while breathing hard.

"This is my job," Romero deadpans. "Both Mr. Russo and Mrs. Russo signed a release that allows the rough handling of them for their safety."

"But I'm not in danger!" Scarlett growls. "I just wanna talk to daddy dearest about the death of a dear friend! So Romero, Let. Me. Go."

"I believe he is in danger from your Mrs. Russo," Romero retorts and Scarlett scowls.

"Romero, I just found out Freddy is dead and just witnessed my father brush it off like it was nothing. Not to mention the FBI is here and apparently they think we're a mob. I need answers and dad is the one who can give them to me, so I repeat: Let. Me. Go."

"Romero kindly let her go," Agent Black orders darkly. She reaches out and takes a ginger hold of one of Scarlett's hands, it's a show of solidarity with her. The gesture is also a challenge to Romero.

What he doesn't see is the card slip into he grasp of Scarlett Perotta from Agent Black. Jasmine Black is giving Perotta the benefit of the doubt, if only to see what she knows later.

Scarlett calms instantly and stills completely.

Her attention has strayed back to the confrontation between her father and the other agents.

Russo is chuckling in the face of the agents, he's unimpressed by the show.

"Look. You got a case to make, run along, get your papers and come back with the bracelets. Otherwise, I got a business to run and a daughter to discipline," Russo declares sternly and Scarlett's flinches back.

The two male agents step back but Agent Black is waiting for Romero. "Black, lets go!" the leader calls and Agent Black holds up one hand in a waiting signal.

Scarlett raises an eyebrow in confusion and her arms drop to her sides. The anger is fading, grief is replacing it.

Sneakily she slips the card into her pocket and nods at Agent Black.

"Let her go," Agent Black requests once again and this time he releases Mrs. Perotta.

The blondes feet stumble and she nearly keels over, but Taylor catches her weight.

"Take care of yourself Mrs. Perotta," Agent Black advises and turns on her heel.

Scarlett Perotta watches as she goes, her black heels kicking up dust from the gravel ground.

The agents exit the scrap yard and Scarlett Perotta is left in her sorrow.

Before she can even realize it she's sobbing into Taylor's chest.

"Taylor bring her inside," Russo orders and Taylor heaves Scarlett up into his arms.

The entourage of Russo then walks towards the dirty looking scrapyard office building.

 **III**

On the inside the one floor building is lavish and clean.

George Taylor places Scarlett onto one of the black leather couches and then Russo sits next to her.

"Leave us." Both guards immediately exit to give the pair privacy.

"How can you not care that Freddy's dead?" Scarlett inquires venomously. "And why did those police call us a mob? And why does everyone here refuse to call my Mrs. Perotta? You remember father you married me to Vincent all those years-"

"Hold on princess!" he exclaims and Scarlett flinches, going silent. Michael Russo instantly softens and reaches to take the hand of his daughter. "Look, I cared about Freddy too; the only reason I didn't show it because I don't trust those guys."

"Why not? They're the FBI, you know that job you've been training me for since I was five?" Scarlett points out. "You want me to be an agent so I can defend and protect."

Michael Russo has been training his daughter for the FBI, but not for the reasons she thinks.

"Mikey they are a perfectly trustworthy organization. Why would you want me to join if you don't trust them?"

Michael Russo stares at her, as she's aged she's been getting smarter. Pulling a veil over the eyes of Scarlett Perotta is not so easy anymore.

"We call you Mrs. Russo here because it's my name and this is my place," Mikey explains, completely disregarding Scarlett's questions.

"That is not what really matters!" Scarlett snaps in a rage filled outburst. "You are being evasive because you know you can't lie to me anymore! Maybe those agents were right! Maybe you did order a hit on Freddy!"

Michael Russo responds instantaneously by smacking his daughter across the face. Her head snaps aside with the force and her hand comes up to hold her cheek.

Scarlett hisses and stares up at her father in shock, she had barely raised her voice and he hasn't hit her since she got engaged to Vincent.

"Taylor take her to wash up," Russo grumbles and makes a timely exit from the room.

Scarlett watches him with a muted rage on her face and unshed tears in her eyes.

Her lip is torn from the ring on his finger and the blood is filtering into her mouth. The metal taste is not unfamiliar to her.

Deep down Scarlett Perotta hopes the FBI returns, she needs a way out of this.

 **III**

That night Scarlett spends the night locked in her childhood bedroom.

 **III**

Scarlett Russo sits silently beside her father, the coffee and toast in front of her has been untouched.

Her father is reclined in a large leather armchair beside her, sipping his coffee and chewing on his toast, completely at ease.

Scarlett's eyes are glazed over as she stares off at nothing in particular. Her face is still sore.

Vincent is probably going crazy right now, she hasn't called to explain why she wasn't home last night. Mikey won't allow her to call him or go home. Whenever Vincent and Michael get into an argument Scarlett is used as leverage.

A file is set on the table before them, snapping Scarlett into focus. Russo frowns and raises an eyebrow at the two agents standing in front of them. She feels relieved to see them again for some reason. However she also wonders where Agent Black is.

Agent Hotchner and Morgan's eyes linger on her busted lip and both their expressions flash with concern.

"How can I help you, agents?" Russo inquires idly. Scarlett's hands itch to look at the file, she's never seen a real FBI file before, only the fake, and replicated, ones in her Criminology classes.

"We're worried about you," Agent Hotchner replies, with a tone of sarcasm.

"What's causing you to lose sleep?" Michael retorts mockingly.

"We hear you didn't order that hit on Freddy," Morgan responds and Scarlett winces. She hasn't gotten used to Freddy being dead.

"I told you I had nothing to do with that," Michael says.

"Why don't you take a look in that folder?" Morgan invites and Russo hesitantly reaches out for it. Scarlett leers over his shoulder as he opens it. Her father mutters "yikes" under his breath at the crime scene photos.

"It looks like you must have a problem within your organization," Morgan observes and Russo closes the folder, tossing it back on the table.

Scarlett is still unconvinced that her family is a mob, but it's FBI agents making the claims so they have to have some level of truth.

"Is that right?" Russo scoffs and Scarlett causally reaches for the folder. She pulls it closer and opens it, examining the photos and file.

"See your hitter doesn't just kill for a paycheck. He kills for pleasure. It's what makes him good at what he does," Hotchner explains and Scarlett furrows her eyebrows. She's somewhat tuning out the conversation now, and murmuring a profile under her breath.

"Paranoid, organized, no hesitation means psychopath. Swift death for Mrs. Demarco could mean soft spot for women or a connection to her, dismembering of Freddy could mean personal revenge," she utters and Agent Morgan quirks an eyebrow upon hearing. It's a good profile, not totally similar to the one the team had, but it could be accurate.

"He's paranoid, he's a psychopath, and he's free-lancing. He's killing civilians now and he's drawing a lot of attention," Hotchner continues as Scarlett mutters more facts. "And you can't control him."

Hotchner nods to the photo of the torture marks on Freddy's uncle and gestures to it.

"That's what he did to Freddy's uncle," Hotch remarks and Russo snatches the folder away from his daughter.

"Russo, if he's not a problem for you now, he will be," Morgan states confidently. Russo forcibly hands back the file and stands abruptly.

"Why don't you let me worry about that?" Russo counters coyly.

Agent Morgan suddenly turns and taps Hotch on the shoulder. He glances back at him with a slight frown and Morgan vaguely gestures to Scarlett.

"Actually before we go, we'd like to ask your daughter a few questions," Hotch says and Scarlett's gaze snaps up to meet his.

"Keep my daughter out of this," Russo growls. "She isn't going to answer any of your questions."

"She's over eighteen I believe she can speak for herself," Agent Morgan cuts in and Russo scowls.

"What do you want to ask me?" Scarlett asks curiously. Agent Morgan side eyes Russo, but poses his question, his safe question. He noticed the busted lip and she knows it's from Russo, he isn't going to ask anything that would get Scarlett into too much trouble.

"You just rattled off a complete criminal profile, a highly accurate one at that, have you received any training?"

Scarlett opens her mouth and then closes it, she hadn't noticed him listening. Michael Russo quickly interjects, seeing this as an opportunity to plant someone in the FBI.

"I'll have you know my daughter has a PHD in criminal justice, a master degree in criminal behavior, FBI level combat training, and has passed the Bar Exam. I even plan on enrolling her in Quantico next year."

"You have an interest in joining the FBI?" Hotch asks and Scarlett shrugs. Her face is flushed and she refuses to meet his gaze.

"My dad's been training me to join the FBI ever since I was a little kid," Scarlett replies and Russo scowls. She is oblivious to Russo's plans and how what she said might have affected them.

It's silent and Morgan takes a chance to divert the tension.

"Russo. I just got a question for you," Morgan prompts and wraps an arm around Russo's shoulders in a power play. "How do you think your paranoid little killer's gonna feel about you being friendly with FBI?" Russo glowers and glances around at the people in the bar who've become spectators to the scene. "Just a thought," Morgan adds innocently.

Morgan and Hotchner straighten up and turn to leave, but Hotch throws a look back at Scarlett.

"We'll be in touch Mrs. Perotta." This flares Russo's anger and he snaps his fingers.

"Taylor please take Scarlett to her room, I believe she has studying to do," Russo demands through gritted teeth. "You know what to do by now." George Taylor places his hands under Scarlett's arms and pulls her up, practically dragging her away.

Scarlett stares back at the FBI agents sadly, but allows herself to be taken away. Hotchner looks regretful that his words caused this but Scarlett offers a small smile for his benefit.

She knows what happens next, Russo will make a weak threat and Vincent will step back in line. Scarlett doesn't know why Russo is mad at Vincent this time, but it must be serious.

 **III**

The door is locked and the cameras in the hall rolling; George Taylor even stands guard outside.

Scarlett Perotta is wide awake in her childhood bedroom; the card from Agent Black is held in her hand.

She has begun to realize Michael is lying to her as well as her husband.

Maybe it was the FBI showing up or maybe it was the phone call Russo made after the FBI shook his confidence in the alleged hitman.

She heard the call, she heard him say "if you don't get under control you don't get her back" and she badly wishes she isn't the her.

After the FBI caught them at having coffee and toast and a nearby bar, Russo had his daughter locked away in her room while he made the call in the office next door. Scarlett cannot leave or call Vincent, that would make Russo lose control of him.

However Russo has no knowledge of the previously broken lock on her window. Vincent Perotta broke the lock years ago, so he could sneak in to see his bride the night before their wedding.

Scarlett was married to Vincent so Russo could keep control of him, and now Scarlett is beginning to realize why.

Knowing this now, Scarlett rises from her bed and approaches it. She has to get to a computer, she has to make sure she's right before breaking from the only life she's ever know.

Scarlett Perotta opens her window and jumps out; she hits the ground running and heads for the Condore's home.

 **III**

The house is still roped off in caution tape, but there is no police presence.

The blonde pulls out the key hung around her neck and unlocks the door.

Inside the first floor is spotless, but as Mrs. Perotta walks up she begins to see the blood. The sight makes her stomach twist in revulsion and her hands shake in fear.

The computer is on the second floor in Freddy's room, just past the master bedroom, where it occurred. All she has to do is walk past the carnage.

Scarlett keeps her eyes pointed down as she silently steps on the bloodstained carpet. Glancing up she sees the walls aren't much better. A strangled gasp, almost squeal, of surprise escapes her and she scurries down the hall to Freddy's room. Once inside she slams the door behind her and inhales deeply.

Across the room at a desk sits Freddy's computer. Scarlett goes to the desk and sits down. The first thing she types into the search engine is: "annual income of a car scrap yard" and the response isn't what she hoped for.

Even thought her mind is in turmoil her fingers keep typing and typing until her loyalties are all shot.

Her father is not who he claims to be, her family is not who they claim to be, and her husband doesn't exist.

The crime scene photos flash in her mind and the profile comes back to her.

"Dismembering could suggest personal revenge...revenge on Freddy?"

Slowly the pieces come into place, the night Freddy died he dropped Scarlett off late, she hugged him, she kissed his cheek. Vincent Perotta must have seen and then acted in kind.

With quivering hands Scarlett reaches for her phone and dials the number that's been playing in her head. Her widened eyes remain unblinking at the life changing results before her.

The phone rings once before the receiver picks up,

"Hello, who is this?" It's the voice is Agent Black on the other end. Scarlett breathes in deeply and exhales sharply before saying the only thing she can think of.

"There isn't any money in recycling is there?"


End file.
